


Jealousy Isn’t Your Color

by Eustacia Vye (eustaciavye)



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-19
Updated: 2010-07-19
Packaged: 2017-10-10 16:37:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/101848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eustaciavye/pseuds/Eustacia%20Vye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're dancing on the backs of the dead and the souls of oblivion, and Lucy can't bring herself to care.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jealousy Isn’t Your Color

They're dancing on the backs of the dead and the souls of oblivion, and Lucy can't bring herself to care. She has her Harold, and he is everything she had ever wanted. She had been nothing before, no, less than nothing. She had been useless and empty and broken, a little lost doll that no one had wanted to play with. She had seen everything with her large doll's eyes, hating everything and everyone.

And now she has it all.

Harold sweeps her up in a whirl, then pushes her toward the wall. The Doctor is there, that poor reckless soul that couldn't understand the wonder that was Harold. He works so hard, so hard, and Lucy knows that he is wonderful and will never rest until his vision of the world comes to life. He pushes her hard against the wall, and she can almost feel the rough scrape of oil paintings through the thin fabric of her dress. This room is wallpapered in paintings, old dead masters she had once tried to copy. Failure used to live with her, but now she is invincible. Now she has Harold's mouth over hers, his hands at her hips with a tight, bruising grip, and his cock erect and ready for her.

He loves her. He needs her. She is his balance, the counterweight to his ambition.

He tears the dress from her, flimsy red fabric. Red like blood, like the blood from her lip when he cuts it with his teeth, like the blood rising beneath his skin to become a livid bruise in the morning. The Doctor watches with his own doll eyes, unable to move. He doesn't speak, but Lucy knows he watches them. She knows he wants Harold's power, knows that he can't have it. Harold belongs to Lucy, and his future is all she has ever wanted.

Harold pushes into her, tight and dry and painful. She likes this, the feelings he gives her. She's not so empty with them filling her up, with his cock buried deep inside of her. Lucy cries out and grasps hold of him. "Harder," she pants. "Faster," she whimpers. This is Harold, this is her future, this is everything she has ever wanted.

"I am your Master," he croons in her ear, and Lucy nearly sobs in gratitude. "Call me your Master, Lucy. Give me your will and your body and your soul."

"Everything, Master," Lucy sobs. His lips are rough over hers, hard against her. Their teeth nearly gnash together, and his hands are tight enough to bruise on her bum. "Yes," she moans, throwing her head back. "Give me more, love. I give you everything in return."

He comes, still thick and hard inside her, teeth over her pulse. She is tight and slick and desperate for him, and a last wicked thrust makes her fall over the edge.

Lucy holds the tattered ends of her dress together. Her hair is mussed, her lipstick smeared and a slight dribble of blood runs from her lip. She knows she looks a fright, and the Doctor is full of wary concern for her. She grins at the Doctor and holds her head up high. She can feel the stretch between her thighs and the slow drip along her skin. "Master loves me. Harold will always love me. You don't have that, Doctor, and you never will."

He cries behind her as she leaves in triumph.


End file.
